


tip your crown to new bruises

by snitches_get_stitches



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snitches_get_stitches/pseuds/snitches_get_stitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything about the kid was too pale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tip your crown to new bruises

**Author's Note:**

> so this was pretty much the result of really, really wanting a prostitute au. i kind of rushed it tbh, so if it's sort of sloppy, i apologize. please point out any grammatical errors you might find.
> 
> but anyways, here's some bb!whore!patrick to drool over. boys own themselves obviously, this is fiction, creative commons rights, bleh.

The boy was beautiful.

Pete knew he used that word too often; he knew it had been turned over enough times in his head that it had lost all meaning to him outside of dry lips and shadows on prominent cheekbones. But it was still the first word that came to Pete's mind when he saw him.

Everything about the kid was too pale--pale skin, pale hair, pale knuckles, pale eyes. The sheer amount of colorlessness would have been sickly on anyone else, but on him it was pretty--all stark shadows under collarbones and blueish-green veins on small wrists. He was small and delicate and pretty and everything Pete loved to ruin, loved to bruise and bite until it was scarred and tattooed with everything he regretted.

He wasn't planning on picking anyone up that night--hadn't been planning on picking anyone up _any_ night, honestly. He had just taken a shortcut, cut through past the Fullerton Hotel and onto Pulaski. And the thing was, he _knew_ about the hookers who hung out here--women in stilettos smoking at bus stops, boys in ripped jeans sitting on sidewalk curbs--but it hadn't become a problem until he saw this kid, this _boy_ , in a T-shirt entirely too thin, ambling aimlessly down the sidewalk at two in the morning. He was shivering--a fact he was trying to mask with relaxed shoulders and a slow gait--but it didn't stop the subtle tremors running through his frame, or the faint flush across his cheeks.

Pete knew he should've kept driving--knew he should've never even slowed down, but he already had and now the boy was looking at him with soft grey-blue eyes and Pete couldn't just  _leave_ him there.

Pete sighed and pulled over to the curb, feeling his moral conscience shrivel away as he lowered the passenger side window. The boy had stopped, now, taken a single step closer to Pete's car, but nothing to indicate he was hustling.

"Hey," Pete called out to him, ducking down so he could see him clearly. "Need a lift?"

The boy blinked (gold lashes against pale cheekbones) and swallowed, seeming to chew over it for a second, before sighing. "Sure." He didn't look happy with himself. Pete didn't feel too happy with himself, either.

x

The boy was pretty quiet in bed.

He was soft and compliant, mostly--he kissed back when Pete's cracked lips brushed his own, rocked his hips gently when Pete thrust down on him, but Pete could tell there wasn't much fervor in there. He didn't mind--it was kind of nice, actually. He couldn't find this type of sex out of any other hooker on Pulaski Avenue, he knew that.

So they shared slow, languid kisses on Pete's bed, breathing hotly into each others mouths when they parted for air. And, Jesus, this kid's  _lips_ \--they were soft and pink and full, giving easily under Pete's own mouth. He could've spent ages kissing him, really. Instead, he pulled back a little, before leaning forward to brush his lips over the shell of the blonde's ear and tug lightly on the lobe. That got a soft, pretty sigh out of the other, and Pete grinned.

"So what's your name, then, love?" he murmured.

The blonde shifted, smiled softly, but didn't meet his eyes. "S'Trick. Just a nickname."

Pete chuckled, pressing his mouth to one T-shirt clad shoulder. "S'cute, that's what it is."

'Trick laughed at that, but that quickly dissolved into a moan when Pete bit at the section of skin just above his neckline. He didn't pull away, just began sucking a mark into the blonde's skin and he squirmed, panting. "Don't--don't leave m-marks." Panting. "Got enough as it is."

Pete pulled away frowned, thinking of all the other men that took this poor kid home and left more than a few painful marks on his skin. "Sorry," he sighed, then kissed down his jawline. "You have pretty skin,"

Another laugh. "Yeah, thanks, I try."

Pete grinned.

x

"Oh, god," 'Trick was whining, as Pete thrust into him with his fingers. He wouldn't stop moving--kept tossing his head from side to side, clenching and then unclenching the bed sheets in his hands,  shifting his legs restlessly. Pete tried to soothe him with a gentle hand on his thigh, stroking the skin with his thumb as his finger rubbed over the spot that made the blonde squirm. "Oh- _oh_." 

Pete grinned, and nipped playfully at piece of thigh close to his mouth, and 'Trick jerked, laughing. "You're-- _fuck_ \--you're a lot better than half the guys I've slept with," he manages to get out in a single breath. "And I'm not saying that to wring more mon- _ey_ , out of you,  _shit_ ," he swore, letting his head fall back onto the pillow behind him. "Most guys just go'n stick their dick in my mouth, slap me aroun' a lot--I charge them extra for that, though." More harsh panting. "B'not you. S'you can get off cheap tonight."

"Oh my God," Pete finally cuts in. "You talk _way_ too much."

x

Sliding into him felt--Jesus, felt like heaven. Pete hadn't gotten laid in far too long, and for being a whore, the kid was oddly tight. And he was breathing, hollowly, right in Pete's ear--light, breathless little sighs that made Pete's dick even harder, if possible. HIs thighs were quivering where they bracketed Pete's hips, small and pale, and suddenly Pete felt huge wave of possessiveness wash over him--suddenly he wanted to claim this blonde, keep him, ruin him for anyone else.

He ran his hands up the boy's thighs as he finally bottomed out, and then kept going--running his hands up the blonde's sides and over his ribs, feeling each inhale and exhale of his lungs as he panted. He felt unbelievably fragile, maleable--like if Pete pressed hard enough into his ribs he could reshape them to his will, entirely.

Instead he let them drift over to 'Trick's wrists--grabbed the both of them and dragged them up until they were on either side of his face. 'Trick was staring at him, both impatient and questioning, maybe even a bit of fearful as he felt the feeling in the air change, felt Pete's large hands press down hard enough on his wrists that his arteries ached in protest. 

And then Pete was fucking him, hard--all fast, tight thrusts into him, and 'Trick writhed against the sheets, wrists screaming from where they were pinned under Pete's grip. Every thrust brushed his prostate just so, let Pete's stomach rub agains the head of his hard cock. "Oh, god, Pete, fuck," he groaned out, wriggling what he can of his hands. It's been so long since he actually got off with someone else.

But Pete's oddly intense, more serious than he was mere moments before. It's equal parts scary and thrilling, frightens him even as he feels his orgasm grow close. "Unh," he moaned out, eloquently. "I'm-- _fuck_ , Pete, I'm close, please."

That seemed to encourage Pete, because he hiked 'Trick's thighs up higher and thrust even  _deeper_ , and he wasn't just brushing his prostate any more; he was slamming into it every time, hard. 'Trick actually fucking  _yelled_ , threw his head back and writhed through a few moments of pure bliss before his climax washed over him, and he was coming hard onto his own stomach. His eyes squeeze shut and his mouth opens in a perfect  _O_ as he moans, hips thrusting up wildly of their own accord as he lets the orgasm wash through him.

Pete followed not long after, stilling inside of him and groaning into his neck as he comes. The hands he had pressed into 'Trick's wrists slacken, and the blonde whined pitifully at the rush of blood that follows. 

"That," Pete finally managed to pant out, "was super fucking hot.  _You_ were super fucking hot. Jesus."

And then 'Trick was laughing, right against Pete's ear, and Pete felt his moral conscience slowly return in the corner of his smile.

x

 


End file.
